by Holly Kerr
Maybe it’s because I suddenly see her as vulnerable. It’s like she’s let me inside to see the real Ruthie.
“Are you finished staring at me?” she asks after a long moment.
My cheeks heat with embarrassment. “I wasn’t staring at you,” I mutter, shifting my gaze.
“You were, and it’s okay, because I was looking at you, too.” She settles against the arm of the couch and looks at me for a long minute until I finally begin to feel nervous. “I told you my secret,” she finally says. “Now it’s your turn.”
“Maybe I don’t have any secrets.”
“Everyone does.”
I shift against the couch. M.K.’s couch is surprisingly comfortable for a nap. Part of me could easily slip back into sleep, but the rest of me likes the way Ruthie is watching me. “You want me to bare my soul, just like that?” I ask, fighting against the yawn.
“It’s a start.”
Usually on dates I start with small talk—work, home, childhood—the basic stuff. Who jumps straight to secrets?
Ruthie. And she did share a big one with me.
“I was engaged to a woman,” I begin slowly but Ruthie shakes her head.
“That’s all you’ve got? I was engaged four times and I’m a lot younger than you are.”
“You didn’t let me finish. I was engaged…and technically I still am.”
The change in her expression is shocking; eyes narrow, mouth tightens into an ugly frown. She slides her legs back as if she’s afraid to touch me. “Explain that. Now.”
“She was in an accident almost three years ago. She’s in a coma.”
“Wow.” Everything about her relaxes but she still frowns with sympathy. “That’s big, and really sad. Do you still feel like you’re committed to her?”
I run my hand through my hair, thinking of how to answer. When I stopped visiting her, it took away a lot of the commitment, but do I still feel a connection with Annabelle? “That’s a tough one,” I begin slowly. “I did want to marry her. I did love her. But the accident happened when she was in a car with another guy. Someone I don’t know, who I still don’t know. I don’t know why they were together.”
I hold my breath. I haven’t spoken of Annabelle to anyone in years. There were weeks and months when everyone I knew kept asking about her, but the questions gradually dwindled. I’m sure some of my friends have forgotten I was ever involved with her. But I can never forget her, not even when she’s lying in a hospital bed.
Ruthie watches me carefully. “Why do you think she was with him?” Direct, straight to the point, and a question no one has ever dared ask me.
“I think she was leaving me for him.” I take a deep breath. “Or at least I think she wanted to.”
“Why do you say that?”
“When I think back to things she said and did, I can manipulate the memories to tell me this or that. If one day I’m convinced she was cheating, then I can look at the not great memories I have of her to find evidence we weren’t going to make it. If some days I miss her and want to believe everything was fine, then sure, everything was great. Does that make sense?”
“You can’t trust your memories.”
“Exactly. And Annabelle was a private person. She didn’t have a lot of friends, at least not that I knew about.” I smile ruefully. “She had one friend named Ben. He was the guy driving. He died, so I can’t ask him why they were together.”
Ruthie recoils as if she was slapped. “Ben. And he died, with another woman in the car?” I nod. “That sounds a lot like M.K.’s story. She was engaged to a guy named Ben, who died in a car accident. There was a strange woman in the car. It’s a little too strange to be a coincidence, isn’t it?”
“Maybe.” I frown. “You think it’ll be okay if I ask her about it?”
“I think you need to find out answers so you can let yourself off the hook. You’re still holding on to her, but if she’s wasn’t totally in the relationship, you shouldn’t be either. Do you think she’ll wake up someday?”
“It’s been so long.” I shake my head. “They said there’s almost no chance. It’s just a waiting game now.”
“That’s really sad. I’m sorry that happened to you. And I’m sorry for her; not just because she’s in a coma, but if she couldn’t be with the person she loved. I hope it was you,” she adds. “I hope she loved you as much as you loved her. But…” Her face scrunches up. “I don’t think you think that.”
“I don’t think I do either. So.” I kick the blankets off my feet. “There’s my secret. Happy now?”
“No, because it’s a sad secret, but I like finding out things about you. You keep surprising me.”
“You keep surprising me more.”
She smiles smugly. “This isn’t a competition. Because if it is, I’ll win.”
“Oh, really?”
“Yes.”
I want to kiss her. The urge hits me like a punch; I want to gather up this quirky, fascinating woman in my arms and kiss her until neither of us can see straight.
But I don’t, because she said she was a virgin and to be honest, the concept makes me nervous. I have moves, but I don’t know what would be best for Ruthie.
Ruthie stretches, her long legs sliding along the couch, her back stretching over the arm. She reminds me of a mermaid. “We’ve been sleeping for almost two hours,” she says.
I’m glad secret time is over. Talking about Annabelle always brings back emotions I’d rather stayed hidden. “You slept longer than me,” I point out.
“I woke up before you, so you slept longer than me.”
“I don’t think so.” Her yawn is contagious and my eyes water as my mouth splits open. “It is always a competition with you, isn’t it?”
She smiles. “Of course.” Another yawn. “I need to do something to wake up,” Ruthie says fretfully.
“I thought you wanted to watch Friends.”
“You’ve slept through the first eight episodes.”
“Hey, I saw the first two, and some of the third. It was good. I’d watch it again.”
“Good. But not today. I need to be active.”
I wave at the dog. “You can take Drogo for a walk.”
“No.” She sits up and hugs her legs into her chest. “Do you have batting cages at that place you and Dean go?”
“The Baseball Zone? There’s a couple of cages there.”
“Let’s go there.”
I press the heel of my hand into my eye to wake up. “You want to go to the batting cages?”
“It’s been so long since I’ve swung a baseball bat. Being around you has inspired me.”
An afternoon sleeping on the couch suits me just fine, but Ruthie is watching me, her gaze suddenly direct, like she’s contemplating something.
I wait. I don’t have to wait for long.
On her knees, Ruthie crawls across the couch to me. Her hand is warm on my leg. “Have you decided if you’re taking me to the batting cages?” Her voice is a husky whisper.
Right now, I’d take her anywhere but I’d much rather stay there with those big eyes on me. It takes two swallows to form the word. “Sure.”
“Good.” But she doesn’t move, hunched on her knees beside me, close enough to climb onto my lap if she moved another inch. I shift my legs, wondering what else I can do to encourage her.
Ruthie needs to make the first move.
The second move, since I kissed her last night. The memory of her lips against mine, her body pressed against me makes me realize that we are completely alone in M.K.’s house.
Canned laughter erupts from the television. Ruthie smiles at the antics of Chandler and Co. I keep watching her.
“If we’re going to the batting cages, shouldn’t you change your pants?” I suggest when it’s obvious the TV has claimed her attention.
Ruthie glances down at the thick fuzzy pants covered in smiling frogs. “You don’t like my pants?”
“I like your pants very much, almost as m
uch as I like those little shorts you had on the last time I saw you in the morning.”
The air thickens between us. When the next laugh comes from the TV, Ruthie doesn’t turn away from me. “You did, huh?” she asks with a nervous smile. “Are we going there?”
“We can go anywhere you want.”
She bites at her top lip, deliberating. With a soft sigh, she moves closer, crawling over my legs and onto my lap. She straddles me, and I shift to make room for her leg against the back of the couch.
My hands find their way to her hips, but other than that, I don’t touch her.
She rests a hand on my shoulder, the other moving to my hair to run her fingers through it. “You like my hair,” I say quietly.
“Almost as much as you like my legs.”
I narrow my eyes and shake my head. “I don’t think so. I really like your legs.”
She laughs softly, shifting closer. My fingers tighten on her hips, feeling the thick fabric. And then she leans into me, brushing her lips against mine.
That’s all it takes for me to finish falling for her.
Chapter Eighteen
Ruthie
I need to kiss Trev first, so I do. But once it happens, once my lips find his, Trev takes over.
And I let him.
I’ve kissed a lot of men—good kissers, demanding kissers, bad kissers—but it’s been a long time since I’ve kissed a man who I truly trust.
It’s a whole different experience.
Trev sits up, his arm wrapped around my waist and one hand slipping up the back of my sweatshirt. The sensation of his hand against my bare skin moves me as much as his lips. The kiss is everything I want—soft but gentle, demanding but not. It feels like I could go on kissing him all day, and that would be okay.
Of course I can’t because I don’t want to tempt myself too much.
It’s been too long since I’ve seriously been tempted.
Finally, I pull away with a shaky breath, but Trev wants more and finds my mouth again. A little noise escapes me, part moan, part hum, and Trev is the one who pulls back.
“You’re going to apologize now, aren’t you?” he asks with his eyes still closed.
I laugh and brush my lips against his. “No.”
“Good.” He opens his eyes, now heavy lidded from something other than lack of sleep. “I don’t want you to be sorry for that.”
“I’m definitely not.” But I do crawl off of him, back to my corner of the couch and watch him. Waiting. I wrap my arms around myself, wishing they were Trev’s arms instead.
Trev takes a deep breath as he studies me. “You look like I’m about to pounce on you.”
“Are you?”
He shakes his head, a curl slipping over his forehead. “No.”
I breathe deep for a moment to slow my heart, which is threatening to jump out of my chest. “Usually when this happens, when I stop, that’s when the proposals start.”
Trev frowns. “Really?”
“Sometimes. Usually there’s asking—begging, but a lot just move to the assumption that I’m waiting for marriage.”
“Are you?”
“No. I’m not sure what I’m waiting for, but it’s not marriage.”
He nods, his eyes never leaving my lips so I know he wants to kiss me again. Part of me wants him to, but the other part suspects what that will lead to, and I’m not ready. I really don’t know what I’m waiting for, but it’s not this moment.
“Men have always assumed they deserve me,” I say quietly. “Because they’re well-known, because they bought me dinner or gave me a ride in their limo. Or took me to prom. But I’m not about to give up a big part of me because they think they deserve it. It’s why I’ve held back so long. It’s not like there haven’t been opportunities.”
Trev holds up a hand. “You don’t need to go into the opportunities.”
I smile. “And it’s not like I haven’t wanted to. Or want to. But I want to make sure it happens with someone I deserve. Someone who’s good for me.”
“That makes sense.”
“I’ve never really explained it to anyone before,” I admit. “Flora and M.K. know, and maybe Patrick if he thought about it, but I keep it pretty quiet. I may be a poster girl for a lot of things, but not abstinence.”
I steady myself and wait for Trev’s reaction. “Well,” he finally says. “You should really go put something on other than the fuzzy frogs. And definitely not the little shorts. Something more suitable, because I thought I’d take you out to Playdium instead of the batting cages.”
My relief widens my smile. “They have go-karts there.”
~
In the short time since I’ve met him, it’s always been in the back of my mind that Trev couldn’t be impulsive. I thought spontaneity didn’t exist in his structured life.
If deciding at the last minute to spend the afternoon at an entertainment complex with me means impulsive, then I’m happy to be wrong.
I quickly change into a pair of jeans, and grabbing two cans of Coke and a bag of cookies for the ride, we drop off Drogo at Trev’s.
I don’t go inside. It’s one thing to be alone with him at M.K.’s; quite another in his house with only Drogo as a chaperone.
Like M.K.’s, Trev’s place is a skinny semi-detached house, but unlike M.K.’s, there is nothing outside that marks it as his. No flowers, no containers, no wind chimes.
I quite like the sound of wind chimes.
“So why batting cages?” Trev asks as he gets back into the truck. “Is that something you’ve done before?”
I roll my eyes. “Of course. You do know who my aunt is, don’t you?”
“Flora?”
I grab his phone from where it rests in the console between us. “I’m going to Google her for you. You’ll be surprised.”
I spend most of the short trip to Mississauga regaling Trev with Flora’s exploits, bragging how my beloved aunt is even more of a celebrity in women’s softball than Dean is for baseball.
“She really almost went to the Olympics?” Trev marvels as we pull off the highway.
“She really almost did,” I say ruefully. “It’s too bad. She would have looked great with a medal around her neck.”
“And did she teach you how to play?”
“Flora taught me everything important.” Even I can hear the pride and loyalty in my voice.
“Everything?” Trev glances over with a raised eyebrow and all I can think of is how it felt to kiss him. How his hand stroked my back, sending tingles through my body, making me think—
“Well, she obviously dropped the ball when it came to driving,” I say, wrenching my mind away from that with difficulty.
“Maybe go-karts aren’t the best idea.” Trev laughs nervously.
Trev
After witnessing Ruthie’s driving ability in a go-kart, or lack of it, I vow never to get into a car with her behind the wheel again.
But I love the smile on her face as we race around the track. Not surprisingly, Ruthie is very competitive. After she tries to bump me off the track three times, I finally take her on the final corner to come out the victor.
Also not surprisingly, Ruthie is a poor loser.
She perks up when we get to the batting cages. We pay for two rounds, but I spend half of mine watching with appreciation at how Ruthie swings the bat.
It would almost be worth playing on a co-ed team just to watch her play.
But the final nail in the awesome-idea day is when we’re heading out through the arcade. The lights and sounds are both mesmerizing and confusing when Ruthie drags me over to a Walking Dead video game.
We spend almost an hour killing zombies together.
“Mr. Cain?”
A voice pulls me out of zombie land, and as I wrench my head around to see who’s spoken, Ruthie gives a whoop. “He got you, Trev! Oh, guts everywhere! Munch munch munch.”
“Sorry to get you killed,” says the voice.
“Hey, Aiden,” I
say, recognizing one of my students.
And his father. I straighten up and drop the controller as Aiden’s father offers his hand. “Gerald Finch,” he says, shaking my hand vigorously. “Good to meet you. Aiden speaks very highly of you.”
“That’s nice to hear.” I smile at Aiden. “How are your holidays? Miss school yet?”
“No way!”
“Happy New Year,” I add, turning to Mr. Finch.
“Trev, I’m so effin dead,” Ruthie wails.
I wince. “You’ll have to excuse my friend here,” I say as I step away from Ruthie’s vigorous game play. “It’s a very heated game.”
“I’m sure it is.” Gerald Finch can’t hide the smile at the corners of his mouth as he watches Ruthie take aim. “She seems like she’s doing quite well.”
“Beginner’s luck.” I grin ruefully.
Aiden tugs on my sleeve. “Is she your girlfriend?” he whispers.
I glance quickly at Ruthie, but with another whoop, her focus is solely on the game. “No,” I whisper back, albeit reluctantly. “We’re just friends.”
“Too bad,” Aiden says with a fair amount of pity. “She’s cool.”
“Yes, I am.”
Aiden’s eyes grow huge as Ruthie drops the controller. He looks up and up as she holds out her hand. “I’m Ruthie. What’s this guy like as a teacher?”
“He’s okay.”
“Just okay? Is he mean?”
“No, he lets us watch movies once in a while and I can listen to my music if I don’t sing aloud.”
“That’s always my problem,” Ruthie commiserates. “I can’t stop singing when I have my headphones in and it’s loud!” She grabs her ears. “I feel bad for people who hear me because I am not a good singer.”
By the time Aiden’s father drags him off, Aiden is just as besotted with Ruthie as I am.
I’m completely besotted with her. Smitten. Hung up.
I’m even going so far as to say I’m going crazy for Ruthie. When she’s not driving me crazy, that is.
We head out of the arcade, moving slowly since Ruthie is distracted by every other game. “Trev, look at this one!” Ruthie exclaims, pointing at a machine. “It’s Friends!”
